


properly

by rainbowrabblerouser



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowrabblerouser/pseuds/rainbowrabblerouser
Summary: Geralt keeps a journal.Jaskier is pissed off.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	properly

**Author's Note:**

> deadass listened to 6 different tabs of music while editing simultaneously

“What are you going to do?”

Silence.

“Huh? Keep breaking my heart over and over again? Until I finally learn my fucking lesson that I will never, ever be loved properly?”

More silence.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier was the only being in the entirety of all of the realms to say his name in such a unique tone that could shatter him so quickly and poison and pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Twenty-two fucking years of this. And what do I get in the end? My heart shattered because of you. I was broken for weeks.  _ Months. Years. _ ”

He feels Jaskier move just close enough so that his breath is on his— then he pushes his chest as hard as he can.

“You broke me.”

Jaskier’s voice cracks and he winces.

Geralt catches his hand before it can smack him or do the worst he could manage.

Then, he pushes him back, leaving what was in his hands in Jaskier’s arms.

“What the fuck is this?”

“An apology.”

Jaskier flipped through, eyes flickering as he slowly recalled what it was. This was his doing.

“You kept the journal I gave you?”

It was a messily bound leather book that used to be all blank. Then, Jaskier gifted it to him one day. “You need to learn how to express yourself. Keeping everything bottled up will kill you.”

Geralt gave it a try.

He had written down things Jaskier would say— deleted lyrics, quotes, sayings, observations.

His favorite one was scrawled all over the first and last page in his messy handwriting:

**_“Buttercups don’t wilt_ **

**_when witchers like you come ‘round._ **

**_And witchers wish on.”_ **

Then, the separate quote:

_ “Dandelions on bards blow buttercups away.” _

Rewritten in cursive, backwards, upside down in all directions until it was incoherent.

Jaskier remembered that day.

It was the day before they left their spot on the coast where they had gotten away for a while.

They were in a meadow and he was teaching Geralt flower language.

His explanation shifted into the haiku.

Later on, he said the other one after he made a wish. He didn’t tell him what it was.

“What flowers show you’re in love?”

“All of them.”

That night, Jaskier was welcomed with every type of flower they had seen in a bouquet.

He resented that they died.

Had he been magical, he would have enchanted permanence of their flower lives.

The flowers were nothing compared to the kisses and the rolling of their hips and the moans that echoed and the gasps through pleasure.

Geralt was a decent artist.

Throughout the poems and prose were drawings of everything. Mostly of Jaskier.

Caught in candid moments.

Speech bubbles of what he had been saying.

“Why are you so cowardly? You won’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.”

Jaskier had always tried everything. 

Teasing Geralt was his favorite.

He’d slam him into the wall and kiss him roughly to see if he’d do anything, but Geralt loved getting his attention so he wouldn’t move– only melt into the touch.

“I hate that you won’t say it.”

“Fine. I love you.”

He’d drown in affection as Jaskier showered him with kisses and release and love.

Geralt felt like he didn’t deserve it.

So Jaskier was pissed.

He had a sketch of his upset face somewhere in the book, but he could see it in person.

Then, he softened it by taking his face in his hands. 

Jaskier flipped to a random page.

He’s not that strong, but he’s so sharp. 

Another.

I can’t love him enough.

One more.

**He’ll leave me.**

He left like crying.

Geralt thought he wasn’t enough for him and that he’d surely dump him one day.

He really believed that. 

An entire book of melancholy about that.

“You love  _ me. _ ”

“I know. It’s embarrassing.”

“Not as embarrassing as all of the songs I have written about you. I write about everything about you. Because I love you.”   
  


He flipped through again.

Gentle like the breeze. Rough like a storm. I can’t let him slip away. 

Pining and yearning aren’t activities for witchers.

**I like him a lot.**

_ You don’t love me like that. _

One more.

**Not like this.**

So when Geralt doesn’t kiss him back and he no longer leans into his touch, he withers.

_ Buttercups don’t wilt when witchers like you come ‘round. _

Lies.

He was wrong.

Jaskier ached for his touch and he yearned for him to kiss him again.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

No.

He wouldn’t get the last word.

“Was I too much for you?”

“No.”

“I wasn’t enough.”

Jaskier had enough. It was his turn to kiss him to shut him up.

“Never leave me, Geralt.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @rainbowrabblerouser


End file.
